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Pete has had a week. To put it simply.
It was a bad start when on Monday he realised that Porsche finished up the last of his grandma’s food the night before after his shift, and has gotten steadily worse, and Pete doesn’t get mad or upset, because that’s not who he’s supposed to be . But he is at his wits end and it feels like the fake face he puts on at work is barely holding to his face - the one he’d rather not reveal to anyone at all ever.
So. A week.
And Khun Noo whined at him at how unfair Pete is being taking an evening off, even going as far as stating that they’ll have so much fun without him. Pete doesn’t doubt that, but Pete also frankly doesn’t care. He’s been running on the highest setting and he needs a break.
And then there’s Khun Vegas. That fucker (even if Pete would never dare call him that to his face). The problem with Khun Vegas is that he’s unfairly hot, unfairly unhinged and feral in every way Pete wishes he could be, but has to stifle. And he’s trying to hit on Porsche of all people.
Now, Pete doesn’t have anything against Porsche (except for that thing about finishing his grandma’s food but he hopes it’s going to be a one time thing) but Porsche as far as Pete knows is the most boring, incompetent, kind of useless bodyguard. His only value - and the reason why Vegas is taking an interest in him - is his closeness to Khun Kinn, for whatever reason.
Unfortunately for Pete that means that Khun Vegas has been loitering around the main family compound more, these days wherever Porsche is, Khun Vegas appears shortly after and stays with his flair and revealing shirts, pulling every trick in his book to woo Porsche, who frankly seems more and more unimpressed the more Vegas tries. It’s painful to watch.
So, a night to unwind.
Once Khun Noo releases him for the evening Pete goes to his and Porsche's shared room feeling lighter than he has felt at any other point that week. From then it's a quick shower and throwing on the most club appropriate outfit he's got - it's a toss up between two different patterned shirts and he settles on the chequered one unbuttoned just enough to show off his collarbones, enough to make it almost slip off his shoulder, almost giving a taste. He does his best with his hair, stealing some of Porsche's hair styling product that he admittedly isn't sure how to even use properly, and goes.
There's several failed starts of bars that are too rowdy or just too full of barely legal kids and Pete's bodyguard paycheck is meagre but even so he draws the line at being ignored by the bartender to wait 20 minutes for a drink that ends up being too sweet and watered down.
The problem is, that Yoks out if Khun Noo is going to go through on his not quite threat not quite promise that they'll have fun without him, and Pete is left adrift hopping from one trashy bar to another, becoming increasingly frustrated and not drunk.
Not this one though.
It's about 1am that he enters a bar and feels almost a thrum in his blood from the get go. The music is dark and rich, bass pounding in Pete's ears making his body vibrate. The walls are dark red and the furniture is all dark wood and dark upholstery. There's booths but there's also a sort of a dance floor where people are pressed close together, their bodies pressed together until they look like a whole, grinding to the low, hypnotic thrumming of the music the very same one that makes Pete's whole body vibrate, that makes his crowd disliking self want to get in there twist his body into a gap he knows he can find for himself.
He's not drunk enough. A problem easy to solve.
He beelines to the bar and orders himself a shot after shot after shot every thought of vegas a cue to take another three shots, until he can't see or think straight, until that crowd is no longer oppressing and a threat and suddenly he's in the midst of the swarm of bodies being nudged and pressed ground into and pushed down onto people. There's hands on his hips, his waist, around his neck, in his hair, everywhere and what normally would make him panic make him feel claustrophobic feels like it's only pushing the buzzing in his blood higher until it feels like he's soaring accessing a world that was beyond him until now, as if his perception expanded.
And then.
And then Pete turns his head, opens his eyes or something and in the midst of the buzzing in his body, his eyes land on none other than Vegas Theerapanyakul.
He's sat in one of the booths, one leg crossed over another, incredibly long in fitted black trousers. He's also wearing one of his god damned patterned silk shirts unbuttoned so low that Pete should be able to see his belly button, and that when he leans forward to whoever he's talking to Pete gets an irresistible need to lick at the smooth planes of skin, at the dusky pink nipple that he can see from this angle. When Vegas leans back there's a stem of a wine glass filled with red in his elegant long fingers, twirling it making the wine swish in the glass in almost a hypnotic movement. Then he says something and Pete is struck with hatred for the fact that he can't hear it, can't hear whatever demeaning thing Khun Vegas must be saying to whoever he's talking to (wishing he was the one Khun Vegas talked to, degraded, called a desperate slut only good for- ) and a feral smile that hardly counts as a smile stretches across his lips.
Pete didn't realise he started moving but suddenly he's pushing through the crowd all elbows and desperate need to be out of there the only thing in his head being VegasVegasVegas.
He likes to think that even in his state he's got some of his bodyguard stealth skills left and Khun Vegas can't see him coming. In reality Pete can't know but he's probably more drunk than he thinks he is and it might not have been an illusion when for a split second Khun Vegas' eyes and shark smile turn to him, his eyebrows lifting just a fraction in surprise or maybe a silent taunt as Pete approaches.
And then Pete finds himself right there at the table and he's got his back to a man in a white suit and somewhere in the back of his brain his instincts scream that it's wrong to have his back to someone who could harm, hurt, kill him but he's got his eyes on Khun Vegas who's looking up at him eyebrows still raised a glint in his eye. Pete's body moves before he's aware of it and suddenly he's in Khun Vegas's lap in a straddled, ass right over the still soft but still noticeable bulge of his cock. Pete swears he feels a stir of movement when he sits himself down but it might have just been Khun Vegas shifting.
Khun Vegas hasn't even set his glass aside, hasn't moved, only raised his eyebrows higher and it takes a moment for Pete to realise that Khun Vegas is acting almost as if he isn't there, past him and right back at the man behind Pete's back.
Pete whines and drops forward until his head is over Khun Vegas' shoulder, face right by his ear.
"Khun Vegas…" His voice is more whiny than he's ever heard it, than it has any right to be with someone who's supposed to be an enemy, or at the very least a cautious ally, one you only trust as far as you can throw him. "Khun Vegas, I need you. Need you to fuck me, feel so empty. Khun, I am so hungry ."
Pete feels raw with how much he's revealing and with the hunger that's clawing on his insides, demanding to be satisfied. But there's something in that which makes Khun Vegas put the wine glass down with a clink and then there's hands on Pete's hips but instead of pulling him in they're pushing him backwards and Pete cries out loud, scrambling to hold onto the back of Khun Vegas' shirt but then one of the hands on his hips moves to his chin and Pete ends up looking up right into Khun Vegas' face and what he finds there is a look he can't quite describe. One thing that he recognises though is the fire and the hunger in his eyes even as the rest of his face remains impassive. And he still doesn't say a word. Pete whines and writhes against the hold.
"I’ll be a good toy, take your cock so well, I know I can, been thinking about it, ah, all the time. When you’re at the compound, when you’re not, during my shifts, at night when Porsche is asleep in the next bed over” his words are slurred but that’s the least of Pete’s worries, the main one being the fact that Khun Vegas isn’t fucking him yet. “You'd been paying so much attention to Porsche, Khun, but I can be better for you than him. I want everything you can give me, nothing is too much. I'm so empty, Khun, you could break me, you could ruin me, do whatever you want to me," he fights against the hold on his hips trying to grind down onto Khun Vegas' cock. “And I’ll let you. I want you to.”
There's some movement from Khun Vegas then, and suddenly Pete's flipped around and pressed flush against Khun Vegas, his back to the other man's chest and Khun Vegas' chin hooked over his shoulder.
"Who would've thought. What a filthy slut I've got here. Don't even care that I'm in the middle of the meeting do you. What happened to the goody two shoes that serves the main family like a petulant bitch. Turns out you're a filthy whore who needs to be shown who they belong to don't you, Pete?" Khun Vegas is drawling through his teeth but what makes Pete come apart most is the way that Khun Vegas speaks his name, or the fact that he knows his name at all.
" I thought-"
Khun Vegas wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes and Pete's sentence is cut short on a moan that should embarrass him considering that they're in public but Pete doesn't care, can't care when he can feel Khun Vegas hard under his ass and when Khun Vegas tightens his fingers around his throat just right - just enough to control his breathing for a moment, two three, before letting go.
"Since when do silly little toys get to think? I thought you were going to take what I give you? And I don't want you thinking, I will choke every thought out of you if I have to, is that clear pet?"
Pete is pretty sure he's drooling, pretty sure he's a whiny mess, he's pretty sure the men behind his back are confused as hell. But he's also pretty sure he needs Khun Vegas to fuck him and own him almost like he means it, almost like Pete could be it for him the way Khun Vegas might possibly be it for Pete.
Vegas doesn't stop talking there though. Instead he raises his voice loud enough to carry through the music still thrumming in the background. "You came here, like a slut, begging me to fuck you, to own you, to feed you, is that right?" Khun Vegas' voice is saccharine sweet and Pete should suspect something's afoot but he doesn't have the capacity to think of anything past Khun Vegas. He nods frantically because Khun Vegas asked a question so he deserves an answer, has to receive an answer. "Lovely little slut, now look at those men in front of you. Look at the men who you interrupted a meeting with,who deal with the main family as well, will see you serving like a good dog. Look at them and say what you want me to do to you."
It's not a request. Khun Vegas doesn't have to ask for things, especially not of Pete, because Pete is certain that he would bend over backwards to satisfy Khun Vegas' every request.
He looks up at the men and the vague awareness that they're watching him like a piece of meat makes him fidget in Khun Vegas' lap. He's given a moment before Khun Vegas tightens his hold on his hips in a silent reprimand and then as if to make sure Pete understands, he also speaks. "I guess you don't want it bad enough, hm? Stupid slut thought you could be of use to me but-"
Pete knows he shouldn't. Knows that Khun Vegas even at his most benevolent (which is not now) doesn't like being interrupted but the thought that Khun Vegas thinks he's no good, that Pete's not good enough to be fucked, not good enough of a toy to own or even just use, makes Pete unable to sit quietly.
"No, Khun, no," he must be shaking more than just his head because the hold on his hips tightens again and then he hears Khun Vegas' chuckle in his ear.
"Then tell them what you want me to do to you. Be a good slut."
Pete looks up again, and this time his blood is soaring, courage and adrenaline spreading through his body like a drug. Even the men ogling him doesn't chip his armour made out of sheer need to be fucked by Khun Vegas and alcohol."I want.. I want Khun Vegas to fuck me. To ruin me like I'm his toy to break. I want-" he stutters suddenly feeling self conscious, feeling himself turn red, but Khun Vegas' hands move and Pete jolts when one of them finds his nipple and pinches, pulls, tugs at it. The other hand finds his throat again and puts pressure until Pete feels slightly dizzy and that makes him realise for maybe the first time, that he's hard, the bulge of his own cock obvious in his trousers.
"Come now, pet, you were doing so good. Such a good whore for me," Pete feels himself sag a little against him at the praise at having done good, being good for Khun Vegas. Thinks maybe he's earned his right to get absolutely ruined by Khun Vegas (knowing he could never do enough to earn that right) but then the hand around his throat tightens again and Pete feels a nail dig into his nipple and it's like an electric shock through his body. His cock throbs and he feels like he could come from this alone, if Khun Vegas really wanted it. If Khun Vegas asked it of him. But he's asking something else and Pete isn't about to disappoint him. So he looks at the men again.
"I want Khun Vegas to make me take it even if I change my mind. Ah, want Khun Vegas to show everyone who owns me and that he's the only one who gets to fuck me like that. Want.. Want Khun to send me back sore and filthy and broken."
Pete can see the outline of the other mens' hard dicks in their suit trousers and disregards them. They're gross. They're irrelevant. He grinds back onto Khun Vegas' cock instead as it throbs under his ass, feeling so hard and so big. Pete knows it would break him so well, fill him so well. Until there's no doubt that he belongs to Khun Vegas. Until there's no question of who was the one to make Pete into ruin like that.
That seems to be enough for Khun Vegas, enough to pull Pete's shirt down and bite down onto his neck like he's trying to carve chunks of flesh out, like he's actively trying to eat Pete, to consume him. Pete feels the thin thread of control that he's got wear thin he feels worn and so close to losing his mind. And then there's Khun Vegas' hands. His hands seem almost as desperate as Pete feels which is a ridiculous thought because it's Khun Vegas and Pete is just one of the main family's bodyguards to him, but Pete doesn't mind fooling himself into believing that Khun Vegas needs this as much as he does.
One of those hands is unceremoniously shoved into Pete's trousers and Pete arches into it, moans, tries to rut his hips into the touch.
"Oh? Not wearing any underwear are we," Khun Vegas' voice is in his ear suddenly and it's gained the darkness it always emanates when he tortures people. "Came here wanting to be fucked like a slut, didn't you. You'd let just about anyone fuck you, wouldn't you. Anyone who's willing to stick it into a filthy whore like you."
Pete feels unmoored, utterly undone with the implication he feels the overwhelming urge to show Khun Vegas to prove that he's the only one Pete imagines fucking him. The only one who Pete thinks of after dark when Porsche spends the night somewhere else. The only one Pete thinks of when he wraps his own hand around his cock and fantasises about doing more when he feels himself clench around nothing.
"No one else. Just you Khun. Just yours to fuck," his voice is a whiny half shadow of what it usually is but as he's grinding down onto Vegas and as his own hand wanders up until it sneaks under his own shirt still buttoned and on, tries to pinch his nipple as meanly as Khun Vegas did before, he can't find it in himself to care.
Khun Vegas… Doesn't move for a moment then two and then he slaps Pete's hand away replacing it with his own as he laughs into the skin of Pete's throat.
"Poor slut, can't help but try and touch itself the way I would, is that right?" Vegas hums and Pete finds that he's no longer even able to make sense of the words. He just whines and shakes his head like that's a sufficient reply and miraculously for once Khun Vegas lets it slide. "Well at least you're a well trained one. A good toy knows it's only supposed to be fucked by its owner, and you're the best toy aren't you? Didn't even have to train you. You were just there, waiting patiently the whole time. Sitting right under my nose and waiting for just a word from me to bend over and let me fuck you," Khun Vegas' voice is still but his touch grows harsh around Pete's cock in his trousers, rough as he digs a finger into the slit and pinches the head making Pete thrash around in his lap. His shirt is a mess, long slipped down his shoulder and barely hanging on the other one, half of his chest on display. Pete honestly doesn't care, knows he wouldn't even mind being stark naked out here as long as Khun Vegas keeps touching him. As long as Khun Vegas fucks him.
He doesn't realise he said it out loud, the alcohol and arousal making his tongue loose in a way it never normally is, not until Vegas hums in his ear and bites behind his ear, the other hand pinching Pete's nipple and Pete's body feels so wired he doesn't know where he wants Khun Vegas to touch him, but losing his touch anywhere feels like the greatest tragedy to befall him.
He doesn't realise Khun Vegas was talking until there's a sharp slap to the side of his thigh and the hand that was playing with his nipple moves up to his throat to cut off his air supply again right on the moan that escapes Pete with the slap. Khun Vegas seems happy enough to let the aftertaste of the moan and the heavy implication of it hang between them, before he starts speaking again.
"I expect my sluts to listen to what I have to say to them, is that understood, pet?"
For a second there's a thought of disobeying in Pete's head, a spark of curiosity at what Khun Vegas might do if Pete disagrees or simply ignores him, but finds even the thought of disappointing Khun Vegas, not meeting his expectations makes him want to curl up and disappear. He nods instead, but just receives another slap for his efforts, although as his mouth falls open on what must be a moan - even though Pete can't hear anything past Khun Vegas and his own heartbeat - he figures it's not much of a punishment for him. Khun Vegas must know it too because he chuckles meanly when Pete's cock visibly twitches.
"Words, Pete. Don't make me punish you, I can promise you won't enjoy that particular punishment," Khun Vegas drawls and Pete doubts there's anything Khun Vegas could do to him that he wouldn't be happy with.
Still, he opens his mouth looking to find words. "Yes, Khun, I understand."
Khun Vegas hums and then there's a hand in Pete's trousers again this time skimming right past his cock and between his cheeks and it's pure instinct to grind back into it, knowing it's Khun Vegas. "I suppose my pet deserves a reward, hm?" Vegas traces his finger around Pete's rim and Pete wants it in him so desperately, he tries to push into it until there's another slap falling to his thigh and after the third time there's a dull throb of pain in his leg as a reminder. There's fingers in front of Pete's mouth now and a short command. "Suck."
This one Pete doesn't have to be told twice, he's embarrassingly eager to get his mouth on any part of Khun Vegas he can. He leans forward like a man drowning and the fingers in front of his mouth are his only salvation and he can't help but moan once he has them in his mouth, once Khun Vegas' fingers reach the back of his mouth behind his teeth, making him gag a little. He fights through it and it's almost like Khun Vegas knows exactly what Pete needs because instead of pulling his fingers out he pushes them further in until there's a phantom tickle at the back of Pete's throat and Pete takes and takes and takes.
"What a good slut for me, makes me wonder who trained that throat, who else did you whore yourself out to, Pete?" His name is dripping venom in Khun Vegas' mouth and Pete makes a confused sound, opens his eyes that he didn't realise he closed but finds himself unseeing through the blur of what must be tears. He shakes his head but it's difficult to make any move without jostling the fingers Khun Vegas has in his mouth. He whines instead grinding down into Khun Vegas as if that's going to show him that no, Pete's only like this for him, Pete doesn't care about anyone else. He knows better than expect it to work and when Khun Vegas' sharp teeth nip at his already bruised sensitive skin he can't say he's entirely surprised. "Maybe I should let those gentlemen play with you a little, hm? Test how ready you are for me, see how much you can take?"
Pete feels a full body flinch as he recoils at the idea of anyone else other than Khun Vegas touching him.
"No? What if that's what I want to give you? What if that's what I want you to do before I fuck you?" Pete feels the tip of one of Khun Vegas' finger slide in dry and the friction has Pete's body torn between the need to get more and the need to get away from the chafing dryness of the finger, the same way his mind breaks at Khun Vegas' question. He shakes his head, stops, jerks his chin down in a sharp nod, stops and slowly shakes his head again, keeping his eyes on Khun Vegas, letting his tongue twirl around the fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. Khun Vegas just pulls his fingers out of his mouth pinching Pete's tongue between his fingers as he goes, pulling it out until Pete's sitting there hips rocking down onto the dry fingers without his conscious control over his movements as he feels spit collect in the back of his mouth and whines as it slides down, as it gets over Khun Vegas' fingers.
"What a filthy little pet, drooling all over himself, can't even answer one question," Khun Vegas' voice is mean but Pete only shivers, the words only stoking the fire in him. Pete wants to push down onto the fingers in him, he wants to take them dry even if it hurts. He wants it to hurt. Wants everything Khun Vegas is willing to give him, but then the fingers leave him and the hand tightens in a iron heavy grip around his hip, with a pointed silence and it takes a few moments for Pete's brain come online in its drunk haze and realise that he's supposed to fill it. He whines against the fingers still clamping down on his tongue but Khun Vegas makes no move to release his tongue and Pete is helpless against a rush of heat it induces in him. The control Khun Vegas has over him, the unshakeable decision that yes Pete is going to answer him like that, with his tongue out like a dog and drooling all over them both. Humiliation , that's the word Pete is looking for and it's a delicious realisation. It makes him feel in a way he can't begin to describe, especially drunk. Like he's grounded in his body but also like he's stuck somewhere on a cloud. It feels divine. Pete wants to stay like this forever, debased and humiliated by Khun Vegas until he feels like this.
"Yeth, Khun Vegath, whatever you want," he realises he should be ashamed, but with his burning body and brain in a daze from alcohol and the odd spell Khun Vegas has him under he can't find it in himself. Khun Vegas doesn't say anything for a moment (although Pete swears he hears a muttered fuck , but it could've been his ears playing tricks on him) and pats Pete's hip in a way that even drunk Pete knows means up and Pete's proud of himself, being able to react to commands even in this state. As soon as his hips are up Khun Vegas yanks his trousers and briefs down until Pete feels the fabric of the expensive slacks under his bare ass. He's horrified for a second over possibly ruining such an expensive article of clothing but then with no warning whatsoever Khun Vegas shoves two of spit slick fingers all the way into Pete, jostling him forward and making him clench tight, mouth dropping open on a moan that hurts his throat in how loud, how raw it feels even to his deaf ears. Even with the minimal lubrication of Pete's own spit it's raw and it hurts and Pete wants more . He pushes back even as his inner muscles protest, but despite all that he feels the fire in his body build higher, feels his cock twitch where its resting against his tummy over his shirt, drooling precum and making stains that are going to be difficult to explain. Pete doesn't care, can't care about anything but how good this feels, how no other pain has ever reached this level of pleasure or maybe that's just Khun Vegas.
"What a slut, are you getting off on the pain? Should I tear you so that you feel me for weeks? So that you can't forget what I did to you? What you asked me for?"
Pete moans out something that he thinks, he hopes is assent because he wants to feel like this forever or at the very least remember this as long as he can. He wants Khun Vegas to break him in every sense of the word. He definitely hears a gasped curse now and then there's fumbling and Khun Vegas spreads his fingers in him.
Then Khun's other hand is cupped right in front of Pete's mouth with a short "spit," and Pete doesn't hesitate but then Khun Vegas pulls his fingers out of him and Pete feels distraught - wonders if he's done something wrong, whines until Khun Vegas hums a quiet soothing sound in his ear, until there's a blunt pressure against Pete's hole and suddenly it all makes sense. Pete's so ready, wishes he could push himself down onto the cock, impale himself, sink all the way down until there's nothing in his brain but the delicious pain. He hasn't been allowed though and he's been taught to respect orders, and it's almost a stronger innate desire to avoid disappointing Khun Vegas, its roots going even deeper beyond all the training and lessons.
He doesn't have to wait long, a miracle because he knows Khun Vegas likes to tease, to play with food and Pete isn't sure how long he could keep himself still for but then there's pressure and then a searing pain pleasure that seems to set all of Pete's nerve endings, all of him, on fire. It's almost as if he can feel Khun Vegas up in his stomach, like he's being split into two. He loves it so much.
Then, devastatingly, comes the stillness and Pete wriggles, Pete tries to grind back only to receive a harsh spank on the side of his thigh, and a sharp pinch to his nipple, neither of which discourages him from moving as much as the idea that he went against Khun Vegas' wishes. That alone has him mortified enough to stop all movement and let out a whine that he hopes is questioning enough and it must be because Khun Vegas grabs him by the shoulder, pulls him just a bit closer until his breath is tickling Pete's ear.
"Whatever I want you said," Pete nods frantically, knowing he'll do anything at all for Vegas to finally properly fuck him and ruin him. The dark chuckle he gets in response would terrify most people, it screams pain and blood and torture. It makes Pete shiver in poorly concealed excitement, his cock twitching. "Open your mouth whore, you'll be nice and help out the gentlemen I was having a meeting with until you interrupted, because you're just that desperate," Pete whines but his mouth drops open as wide as it goes, because his body isn't even his own anymore, it's just good for following Khun Vegas' orders. There comes a sharp nip at his earlobe, and a snort of derision that makes Pete break out in goosebumps, and because his mouth is wide open there's nothing to stop a whimper from escaping him. "Look at you desperate for cock, having one in your ass is just not enough for you, is it? You need one in your mouth as well?"
And Khun Vegas must have beckoned one of the men closer in the meantime because suddenly there's a musky smell in front of Pete's face and when he redirects his focus he sees a dick hovering mere inches away from his face.
It's an ugly dick. It's saggy and covered by a film that might be sweat. It has an odd curve to it like a broken bone mended wrong. When Pete tries to look past he sees the most saggy, hairy balls that exceed even his worst imagination. Pete wants to bite it just for coming near him, but Khun Vegas asks this of Pete and Pete wants to please him more than anything so he keeps his mouth wide open, jaw almost unhinged even though he definitely doesn't need it to be for this particular cock. Shame. He imagines that if it was Khun Vegas' cock he'd have to get his mouth open to the point where an ache settled in his jaw and with how deep Khun Vegas' cock feels in him now Pete just knows it would push past his gag reflex into his throat, choke him so well. He's so lost in imagining what it would feel like having Khun Vegas' cock that he misses the moment when the man clearly gets permission and fucks into Pete's mouth and it's every bit as disappointing as Pete thought it would be. He lets himself swim in the fantasy of having Khun Vegas' cock in his mouth instead, stretching his mouth as nice as it stretches his hole, making Pete drool all over himself, making himself a mess for Khun Vegas and Khun Vegas alone. Khun Vegas would fuck his mouth so nicely, making sure to choke Pete on his cock, maybe press his fingers into Pete's throat, make it even tighter for himself, making Pete choke more. The thought alone makes Pete burn white hot. He's stuck so deep in his fantasy of stretched mouth and bruised throat that he moans around the dick as it's thrusted into his mouth with all its disappointing length.
There's a moan resounding over his head, that sounds wrong , and then Pete is yanked off the cock, hears a click that he knows all too well, that immediately puts him on high alert. The sound of a gun being cocked, safety flicked off. He opens his eyes but it's none of the men pointing the gun, and the sudden shock on their faces makes Pete inclined to believe that the gun isn't aimed at him. The suspicion is further confirmed when a dark shape appears in his periphery, and Khun Vegas speaks, voice icy.
"I changed my mind, you have a minute to get out of my sight or I'll put a bullet in your heads."
The men must at least consider reaching for their own guns, or at least Pete imagines they must, but the threat in Khun Vegas' voice distracts him from everything else, makes his head swim, makes him clench around Khun Vegas' cock still hard in him. He wishes Khun Vegas would shoot the men and fuck him when they're both covered in their blood, wishes Khun Vegas left them to bleed out and watch as he fucks Pete. He wants all of Khun Vegas' violence and blood covered hands. There's a scatter of moving feet and then another click of the gun, the safety clicked on and as happy as Pete is about that additional safety, there's also a pang of twisted disappointment deep in his gut.
"You really are more of a slut than I gave you credit for, moaning around random man's cock like that. You really would let just about anyone stick it in you, wouldn't you. Maybe I shouldn't have fucked you, who knows what sort of shit you're carrying," Khun Vegas snorts all derision and disgust and Pete shakes his head frantically, because no, Khun Vegas must know, it's only him, Pete's first and only. There's a sharp hiss behind Pete and the fingers on his hip are clenched tighter. Pete hopes they leave bruises. Hopes he'll be able to press his own fingers into them and remember this. "Fuck, a virgin slut aren't you, really want me to break you in, ruin you for everyone, don't you." Pete's brain doesn't quite know how to process that information but moans an affirmation anyway, and then there's a cold, prodding touch over Pete's lips, and an intrusion of a cold metal that smells distinctively like gunpowder and Pete realises there's a pistol in his mouth. And the thing is, it's been instilled in Pete that safety doesn't exactly stop a gun from firing, that a gun with safety clicked on is just as deadly. There's a thrill of danger to it that makes his head swim, makes him moan around the cold barrel as he wraps his lips around it and sucks like it's all that he knows how to do.
"Suck on this if you're that much of a whore for it, need something in your mouth, just your ass isn't enough for you, is it?" Pete clenches and there's another derisive snort behind him. "Are you getting off on this? The idea that I could blow your brains out right now if I chose to?" there's an odd sort of choked laughter. "Pete, Pete, Pete, you're more of a freak than I thought, and you've been hiding in plain sight this whole time. Makes me want to ruin you. Keep you spread open, tied down and fuck you whenever, make you bleed, make you take it even when you don't want it."
Pete whines around the barrel and his slack mouth is trying to form words around the metal but it's a borderline impossible. His brain is an endless litany of please please please .
And then as if Khun Vegas was a benevolent god pitying Pete, he thrusts his hips upwards into Pete, the head of his cock bumping right into a spot in Pete that makes him see the stars, makes his mouth drop open on a moan around the barrel of the gun.
"If you let it slip out I'm pulling out and leaving you like that, is that clear?"
The question feels like a trap with how every move of his head, every word and sound spoken can make the gun slip out of his mouth. He clamps his mouth tighter around the barrel and gives the tiniest of nods, but then there's a hand coming up to his jaw, gripping hard, long fingers digging into his cheeks. "I expect a verbal answer, pet, or I'm leaving now."
It strikes Pete that Khun Vegas is enjoying this, setting impossible tasks for Pete knowing Pete can't win either way, and giving an unacceptable ultimatum - one that makes every atom of Pete fight back and jolt in displeasure at the very thought of the possibility.
"Yeth Khun," he manages in a midst of blazing arousal, the gun in his mouth and the fingers digging into his cheeks and Khun Vegas bursts into a flurry of movement, hand around Pete's jaw sliding down to hold onto his hip and Khun Vegas' own hips fucking up into Pete, right into the spot that makes Pete see the stars, makes his tongue want to loll out, he has to fight himself on that in fear he'll let the gun slip out, will lose the blaze of pure sensation. It's an exquisite torture of wanting to grind down onto Khun Vegas' cock like a whore Khun Vegas says he is, like a whore he is for Khun Vegas, and the fear that sudden movements will cause the barrel of the gun to slip that precarious inch and Khun Vegas to leave. He settles for tiny downwards rolls of his hips even as he feels tears gather in his eyes from it not being enough, from wanting more still, wanting Khun Vegas to feed him until he's spilling over, until there's no way of denying or hiding that Pete's been irrevocably ruined. He wants bruises and scratches. Wants Khun Vegas' cum in his ass, his mouth, all over his skin like a canvas for Khun Vegas to paint.
The gun is suddenly yanked out of Pete's mouth, leaving him empty and Pete can't help but let out a small shout, because he was supposed to keep his mouth on it, was supposed to be good for Khun Vegas and now Khun Vegas is going to leave him so, so empty no cock for Pete to keep warm, to pleasure him and for him to bring pleasure to, no cum leaking out of his hole like he was imagining just dreadful gaping emptiness. And yet Khun Vegas somehow doesn't, instead his free hand comes to the front of Pete's shirt and slowly pops it open button by button until it's hanging open around chest.
And then.
Then.
Then Khun Vegas trails the very tip of the gun down Pete’s throat, circling it around his Adam's apple, stopping briefly at where Pete can hear his pulse racing and Pete in all his desperation, lets a moan escape him and he could try and fool himself that it's at the coldness oft the metal or at Khun Vegas opening his shirt like he's teasing, but they both know its the idea of Khun Vegas owning Pete so entirely that he even decides if Pete gets fucked or not, if Pete lives or not. The shock of the cold metal still wet with Pete's spit is only an added bonus, the wetness adding to the shock of cold against his burning up skin. Khun Vegas doesn't stop his hand trailing downwards, keeping the path of the gun slow and steady even with Pete writhing and trembling against him. The barrel stops at Pete's nipple and Pete can't help a cry that reeks of desperation, can't help but to push his chest forward into the gun, head thrown back coming to rest on Khun Vegas' shoulder and Pete is shocked by the feeling of silk under his head, Khun Vegas' clothes entirely forgotten. It gives him an odd thrill that he's coming apart, reduced to a shaking drooling mess while Khun Vegas hasn't even undressed past taking his cock out of his trousers. Pete clenches around Khun Vegas’ cock in him, finds him unmoving once more, but as he tries to grind, to roll his hips, he’s stopped by a stern hand.
"What a filthy slut I've got," Khun Vegas clearly is ready to take the opportunity that Pete presented him with to degrade him further. It makes Pete burn that much more, and in a momentary rush of clarity he realises the throb in his cock and how close he is to coming. Could have been on the verge of it for a while now, there's no way to know with how focused his body has been on the rush of different sensations Khun Vegas assaults him with. His own hardness became a secondary thought. And the ownership of it all on top of everything else. "My filthy boy, little Pete."
His name in Khun Vegas' mouth sounds like the sweetest praise and the sharpest degradation. Pete is being thrown between the different sensations depending on Khun Vegas' whims like he's got no agency. He doesn't mind at all.
And then terribly slowly, in a practised tease the tip of the gun slides lower still past Pete's belly button across his abdomen where it pauses for just a moment before it nudges against Pete's balls, trailing across his perineum like a tickle and Pete wails. Suddenly the thoughts of pushing his hips down, making Khun Vegas move, float away and he’s left with the sensation of the gun over his skin. Then, like Khun Vegas wants to see how much he can push Pete the gun trails up, slowly like an afterthought, like a tease, until it's a gentle pressure at the base of Pete's cock and Pete honest to god chokes on a moan. Khun Vegas doesn't stop there though, almost like he wants to see how far he can push Pete the pressure of the gun against Pete's naked sensitive skin increases, and keeps increasing as it trails up and Pete dreads what's coming as much as he anticipates it. He's mildly aware of the throb of his own cock and his laboured breathing, and then suddenly the gun is at the head of his cock at the sensitive skin on the underside of the head. Pete is suddenly very aware that he's going to come, sees it inevitable in the nearby distance like a cliff he's racing towards and can't turn the car around. The best he can do is try and warn the driver - Khun Vegas - and he tries, but all that comes out of his mouth is bits and pieces of whines and choked off moans. He's not sure if Khun Vegas doesn't understand or doesn't care, either way he doesn't stop, instead moving the muzzle of the gun even further up until it’s pressed flush against the slit of Pete's cock and Pete feels it like an explosion, his entire body locking down and contracting and then exploding with all the tension that kept him together. There's a sense of static in his body, mouth wide open on the sounds he's making but can't hear. It takes a moment for his brain to register that oh, he's coming - the warm streaks splattering across his own chest, his shirt, possibly even the gun - a thought that makes him moan - Khun Vegas' personal gun forever stained and ruined by Pete just like Pete is forever stained and ruined by Khun Vegas. Undeniable signs of each other in their lives.
The gun is swiftly pulled away from his cock and Pete can't help but whine even as sensitive as he is, even as he's already trembling all over, as if every wave of his orgasm sets out to make him fall apart. But perhaps that's just Khun Vegas.
He's still coming, still mourning the loss of the rush of danger that came with the cold metal against his heated skin, when Khun Vegas brings the gun up to his face again. The white streaks of cum a stark contrast against the dark metal of the pistol, the contrast making the sight send another rush through Pete. He didn't even know it was possible to come this long and wants to reassess the situation, but then Khun Vegas is biting down where Pete's shoulder and neck meet and Pete's cock throbs again, almost as relentless as Khun Vegas, even as it's sensitive from coming.
"Bad pet, did I say you were allowed to come?" Khun Vegas' voice is harsh but there's an odd waver to it that Pete can't quite place. He's too preoccupied with the gun in front of his mouth and when he swallows he realises that there's spit gathering in his mouth. He wants to suck the gun clean. He hopes Khun Vegas is going to let him. There's a slap to his thigh and some of the built up spit in Pete's mouth escapes when his mouth opens on a moan. He thinks his cock might be getting ready to come again even if he did just come, wonders briefly if that's possible but dismisses that track of thought because if anyone can make it possible for him it's Khun Vegas. "A filthy slut, comes from having a gun pressed against his dick and now you're drooling to suck it clean?" Pete doesn’t have the capacity to move his hand to wipe the spit away, he sits nice and still and hopes. He feels like there's an eyebrow raise but he can't see. "Go on then."
Pete doesn't have to be told twice, lurching forward to wrap his mouth around the barrel. The taste is distinctively different than before, and the thought that it's because of his own cum makes him shiver. The taste of the metal is barely recognisable, concealed under the bitter salty taste of cum that makes Pete close his eyes and moan, savour the taste. He hears the hitch in Khun Vegas' breath along with a muttered curse and suddenly Pete realises that oh, Khun Vegas is painfully aroused and Pete hasn't been very good at all has he. He keeps sucking and licking the gun clean, tongues the muzzle like he would the slit of Khun Vegas' cock, mourns that Khun Vegas can't feel it and likely can't see it either. He also bears down onto Khun Vegas' cock in him, hard and throbbing and so hot, makes sure to clench around it, swivel his hips.
The gun is suddenly yanked out of his mouth and Pete cries at the loss, but then in a quick movement he's being flipped and pushed until he doesn't know where's up and where's down, until his back is on the table and Khun Vegas is hovering over him, somehow still inside. Pete can't help a breathy moan at how easily Khun Vegas manhandled him. He's aware that he's got quite a bit weight to throw around himself, and that Khun Vegas' lean frame belies the strength acquired through years of training as mafia heir, but it doesn't make it any less hot.
Khun Vegas himself, like this, is a sight and Pete wishes he could have watched Khun Vegas the entire time, because Khun Vegas’ hair is in disarray, his eyes dark and his chest flushed as far as the shirt allows Pete to see. Which is quite a bit. There’s something manic in Khun Vegas’ eyes and his teeth are bared in sort of a smile, that would make anyone else afraid, that makes Pete feel like Khun Vegas is going to eat him whole, until there’s not even a tiniest bone left of him. He welcomes this idea, puts it away somewhere deep, to treasure, along with this look of Khun Vegas’ because Pete doesn’t think he’s ever seen Khun Vegas look hotter or closer to losing it than now, and if this is the only time he’s going to get this, otherwise doomed to a lifetime of mediocre sex, he’s going to keep the memory safe.
“What a good slut,” Khun Vegas drawls and everything in Pete sings at the praise, even as a slap lands on his cheek, a little hesitant as if Khun Vegas is unsure if it’s not pushing Pete’s limits and Pete just moans hoping to convey that no, there’s nothing Khun Vegas could do to him that Pete would be unhappy with. It takes a second for that realisation to sink in for Khun Vegas, but once it does, the hand returns, the slap sharper this time, actually stinging, making Pete’s head turn on the impact. Pleasure the sting brings makes Pete’s toes curl. “Let’s make you into a good cum drunk mess for me, hm?”
Pete can’t help a whine and a jerky nod and then Khun Vegas is tightening his grip around Pete’s hips with a ‘fuck’ punched out of him and starts slamming into Pete like he needs it, like he needs Pete and Pete doesn’t mind deluding himself if it means he gets fucked like this. Every thrust is aimed right into the spot that makes him see stars and every thrust pushes him up the table before Khun Vegas drags him right back down.
Then, slowly as if he’s got all the time in the world, as if his thrusts aren’t getting sloppy and his breaths aren’t catching on the little almost moans, Khun Vegas leans down until he’s all the way by Pete’s chest, and bites.
Pete’s nipples were already sensitive and so that much is enough for his entire body to spasm and then lock down and he wasn’t even aware that he was close to coming, but then he is, in a toe curling, muscle locking throes of white hot pleasure, streaks of his own cum painting his chest and stomach. He feels Khun Vegas thrust once, twice more, before he stills and then-
Pete moans at the sensation of Khun Vegas’ coming in him, the sound is all breath, but he doesn’t have enough self control to keep it in, as embarrassing as it might be moaning over the feeling of another man’s cum in him. Maybe he’s already cum drunk for Khun Vegas, like Khun Vegas said. It doesn’t seem like such a bad thing to Pete personally.
He hears Khun Vegas’ name whispered, screamed, gasped in breathless reverence, and recognises the voice as his own. He’s missing the respectful honorific, he realises, but Vegas doesn’t seem to mind, digging his nails into Pete’s hips, falling apart above him, in him, so Pete doesn’t mind either.
There’s a puff of warm air on Pete’s ear, a whispered question perhaps, but Pete is sunken so deep in all the sensations of Vegas, removed nearly entirely from the physicality of his own body that the words go by unheard. The warmth of the cum and the slowly softening cock in him and the weight of Vegas over him, the smell and dampness of cooling sweat on Vegas’ skin where it’s touching Pete - Vegas’ chest and hips.
There’s a moment of stillness and silence, before Vegas is pulling out and Pete tries to clench, tries to grab Vegas - all desperate hands, snatching at the silk of his shirt - to stop him, to keep him inside for a little bit longer, but Vegas like in everything, is unstoppable. And then he’s out and Pete gasps at the sensation of the cum leaking out of him, tries to clench to keep it in, suddenly finds his own finger in himself, hoping they would do the job of plugging him up, keeping Vegas’ cum in him, keeping him marked as Vegas’ even just for the night, even just this once, but then even that is taken away from him. A hand tightens around his wrist and slips his fingers free of himself and he can’t help but wail at his loss, at the trickles of Vegas leaking out of him until he’s going to be left empty and when Vegas leaves Pete will have nothing to remember this by, nothing to keep to himself selfishly.
It’s a testament of how lost he is in his despair that the sharp spike of arousal going through him takes him by surprise. He can tell he’s moaning before his brain comes fully online to register that Vegas hasn’t left, in fact his hands are on Pete’s hips and his mouth-
His mouth is at Pete’s ass, tongue circling around where his own cum is leaking out of Pete, lips creating a suction around Pete’s hole, almost like he wants to suck his own cum out of Pete as if he was drinking through a straw. Pete doesn’t know if the thought amuses or arouses him more, but there’s no space for amusement with the dark possessive grip Vegas has on his hips, with the curls of dark pleasure spreading through Pete’s body again like a forest fire.
“Vegas, ah, ah, too much, Vegas-” Vegas pulls away for a moment, tilts his head in a contemplating look, almost like a predator seizing up its victim. Pete has no doubt that’s exactly what he is to Vegas right now and doesn’t mind in the slightest, even if his body is going to fall apart from all the pleasure Vegas magnanimously decides to bring him.
“Didn’t you say you’ll take whatever I give you? Take it then,” and Vegas dives right back in, pushing his tongue past the ring of muscle that’s been stretched loose and Pete wails, his hands clenching in Vegas’ hair, pulling him close, keeping him there even as Pete’s body is fighting itself in the midst of all the sensations.
Despite Pete’s hold on his hair, Vegas manages to pull away, because of course he does. His hair slides through Pete’s fingers like smoke and he smiles up at Pete all glinting eyes and chin covered in spit and his own cum. “Hm, didn’t you say it was too much? And you’re still trying to pull me closer?” Vegas tuts and shakes his head, and then delivers a sharp slap to Pete’s thigh, that makes Pete’s entire body jolt in a shock of sensation so contrasting to the pleasure. “A greedy whore.”
And yet with all the degradation Vegas has to bestow upon him, he still goes right back down, tongue first, licking his own cum out of Pete with the enthusiasm of a man starving, with a single minded focus that Pete is helpless against, reduced to a mess of incoherent babbling, that in its very core goes back to VegasVegasVegas .
It’s not long until Pete feels the clenching in his gut and the throb in his cock and he knows Vegas is going to pull yet another orgasm out of him, although he doesn’t know how it’s even possible. He feels like he’s going to truly fall apart into tiny pieces in Vegas’ hands if he comes again, like he’s going to black out to save his mind the pain that the overwhelming pleasure brings with it. He knows any attempts at denying Vegas this, at stopping him would be fruitless, and there’s something deep inside him that doesn’t want Vegas to stop. Wants Vegas to keep pushing his body as far as it will go, until there’s nothing left for Pete to give. He wants Vegas to keep taking even then. Wants Vegas to be as greedy for Pete as Pete is for him. So he doesn’t ask to stop, he revels in the sharp pain of the pleasure, brings Vegas’ head closer, grinds down against the tongue the best he can with his body feeling like it’s made of cotton wool, with his brain feeling like it's melted out of his ears a long time ago, and the only thing driving him now is pure instinct.
Vegas doesn’t pull away even after Pete is certain there’s no more cum left in him but then there’s a finger pressing in alongside the tongue, curling it to touch that spot in Pete and it’s like fireworks explode behind Pete’s eyes, bursts of colour dancing in his field of vision, as his hips press up, up, up, toes curling and his cock throbbing but there’s no streaks of cum adding to the mess already on Pete’s chest. Pete has a quick moment to wonder why, before Vegas is pulling away and leaning up to hover over him menacingly still. Then there’s fingers around Pete’s jaw, making sure it’s open wide and Vegas- Vegas opens his mouth and spits the cum he’s eaten out of Pete, watered down with his spit, right into Pete’s open waiting mouth, then pushing it shut hard enough to make Pete’s teeth rattle as he swallows. Something about Vegas spitting in his mouth, spitting his own cum that was just in Pete’s ass, into Pete’s mouth makes the last waves of Pete’s orgasm that much more powerful, that much more intense - on the verge of too much, as his body locks down, as his cock throbs painfully but doesn’t release a drop of cum. He wishes Vegas had more for him, but that’s all there seems to be so Pete’s left gasping out little moans as the pleasure passes over him and he’s left trembling, feeling so terribly heavy all over.
He thinks Vegas might be saying something to him, touching him all gentle hands, but Pete is already sinking into the exhausted darkness.
(Vegas looks at the bodyguard, little Pete asleep on his shoulder as Nop drives to the main compound because as much as Vegas would love to, he can’t keep Pete without causing trouble for both himself and Pete. But in his mind the monster wishes and craves. Wishes he could bring Pete back with him, see just how much Pete is able to take, leave his mark so permanently on Pete that even if Pete chooses to go back to the main family, it’s clear who he belongs to.
He wonders just how on Earth Pete managed to hide from him for so long, hide in plain sight, because Vegas knows that darkness attracts darkness, and he’ll be damned if Pete’s anything but dark - like him.
If Pete was an innocent little dog like he’s so good at pretending to be, he wouldn’t climb into Vegas’ lap in the middle of a meeting, asking, begging, demanding to be fucked and owned and ruined.
Vegas hopes he delivered, realises Pete ruined him just as much.
“Khun Vegas, we’re here,” Nop’s voice is hushed and when Vegas looks up they’re around the corner from the compound. Nods at Nop, who gets out of the car and circles to the back, lifts Pete off the seat and steps away to wake him up, nudge him towards the compound. Like agreed. No matter how much Vegas may resent the idea, resent Nop taking Pete away from him. The monster in him wants to claw at Nop, threaten and torture him to bring Pete back. But as it is, Nop is his most loyal man and it’s better that way.
So Vegas remains seated in the car, watching as newly awake Pete walks, swaying from side to side to the entrance of the main family compound. Watching and with clawed grip on his knee stopping himself from shooting a main family guard, as someone runs outside and wraps an arm around him, taking Pete’s weight on. Watching and keeping himself from going in with a gun, whisking Pete away, back into his arms, into his rooms for Vegas to fuck and own. Watching as Pete disappears behind the doors and only then relaxing his grip on his own knee, relaxing the clench of his jaw.
Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow is a new day, and tomorrow he'll make sure Pete is his.)